


Awkward

by Howland



Category: Die Hard (1988 1990 1995 2007)
Genre: Community: smallfandomfest, Explicit Language, M/M, POV Original Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-23
Updated: 2010-06-23
Packaged: 2017-10-10 06:04:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/96413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Howland/pseuds/Howland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One of McClane's fellow officers notices the man behaving oddly at a crime scene one evening.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awkward

**Author's Note:**

> Written for SmallFandomFest 7 over at Live Journal. The Prompt was 'John's Co-workers Find Out.'
> 
> My first time writing for this fandom :) It was a lot of fun.

Mills is pretty sure he’s never seen McClane this angry before, not in the three years he’s worked with the guy. As a matter of fact, he’s pretty sure he’s never seen _anybody_ this angry before, even including that guy on PCP who once threw a chair through an office window.

It’s making him nervous. Hell, McClane’s making everybody nervous, even the six foot three liquor store owner who called in the crime in the first place. They’re all tip toeing around McClane, which is awkward because he’s not a small man and he’s standing smack dab in the middle of the crime scene. A crime scene which consists of nothing more than a small alley.  McClane is kind of hard to avoid.

Hearing the approach of an ambulance brings a sigh of relief to the small contingent of officers and witnesses gathered between the damp brick walls. Maybe McClane will stop hovering when the EMTs get here and get a chance to do their thing. Because, really, John McClane _hovering_ around a victim like a pissed-off mother hen is just too weird for words.

Not that Mills doesn’t appreciate McClane’s anger on behalf of the victim. For sure Mills understands sympathy pain when it comes to pointless violence like this. Back in the day he himself was small for his age and got beat up a lot. He knows what if feels like to have your eyes swell shut and your ribs to ache for days. Yeah, he feels bad for the guy, they all do. But they’re Big City cops and they see worse things than a mugging on a daily, if not hourly, basis. At least this guy will walk away without permanent injury.

Until now the victim’s been talking with Officer Hernandez, but she’s finished getting the kid’s account of events and is heading over to her car so as to radio some info back to the station. For some reason she thinks it’s a good idea to leave the victim alone with a looming McClane and Mills winces. He counts himself lucky that he isn’t in the kid’s place.

Then the kid is talking again. This time to _McClane_.

“Jesus, it’s just a bloody nose and a black eye. I’ll live.” His voice sounds weird and stuffed up, probably a result of the steady stream of blood still leaking from his right nostrils. What’s even weirder is that he doesn’t sound scared at all. It’s like he’s completely unimpressed with McClane’s Machismo and suddenly Mills is very aware of the size of his balls and thinks ‘if this weird little punk can look an angry McClane in the eye and talk him down why the fuck am I standing over here praying to Jesus that the man won’t so much as look at me?’

The ambulance doors slam and a burly EMT brushes past Mills’s shoulder. The two of them exchange a nod before then the man steps forward and takes a knee next to where the kid’s sitting on an overturned crate. McClane barely gives up an inch.

The tech is clearly about to say something to the tune of ‘If you could step back, officer, and let me do my job...’ but then he glances up and is subject to McClane’s Death Stare, the patented one which makes even the toughest perps piss themselves, and he turns his gaze to the ground so fast Mills is surprised he doesn’t get whiplash.

Mills grits his teeth, and prepares to grow a pair.

“McClane, over here.” He’s proud his voice doesn’t waver and that he manages not to fidget as the bald cop turns his head with an eyebrow raised. It’s a warning and Mills knows it, but McClane’s just making things worse for the kid _and_ the medic and it’s time for him to deploy some damage control.

“I need to talk to you.” Mills tries again when the man looks ready to go back to looming.

Surprised as hell and no little bit apprehensive, Mills watches as The Kid and The Cop do a stare down and somehow the kid wins because suddenly McClane’s turning on his heel and storming towards the street. Mills follows him out.

There are two cop cars capping off the entrance to the alley and a small gaggle of civilians have gathered and are straining to see what’s going down. Words like ‘rape’ and ‘murder’ are already bouncing around and Mills never fails to be amazed by how fast rumors can fly through a crowd. Really, the kid’s right. It’s only a black eye and a bloody nose.

McClane makes his way over to his car and leans against the door, his muscled arms folded over his chest. It’s evening now but it had been a hot summer day and the cement is still bleeding off New York City heat in waves. They’re in short sleeves and Mills tugs mindlessly at his collar as he gives the crowd a once over, doing anything but look McClane in the eye.

“Well?”

When the guy’s angry, he talks like his words are bullets to be put in targets. Mills feels like he’s on the wrong end of the shooting range but he does his best to keep it cool and just shrugs, trying not to let on to the fact that McClane is one of the few people in the world who can still intimidate him.

“You were causing hell for the medic back there.”

McClane grunts and Mills steals a quick glance at his face, noting the stormy look in his eye before he turns away again to study the hood of the car.

“I’ve just never seen you hover McClane. What’s got you so worked up?”

“I’m not hovering.”

“You’re hovering. Like a helicopter.”

A sound somewhere between a grunt and a growl escapes McClane and the man drops his hands to thump a fist on the hood. “Let it go Mills.”

Finding a cigarette in one pocket and his lighter in another Mills clamps his lips around the filter, lights up, and lets the mouthful of smoke give him a few seconds to figure out what he wants to say.

McClane is not his partner. The guy doesn’t have a partner. However, McClane_ is_ a fellow cop and you can call Mills a dumb ass all you want, but he thinks someone on the squad should be looking out for the guy. From station gossip he knows the man went through a messy divorce a while back and now has two semi-estranged children. It’s a tough lot for any guy to deal with, even a badass like _McClane._

Not that he’s saying the guy is acting weird because he’s like, ‘depressed’ or some stupid shit like that, but still. Something is clearly going down. Mills wants to know what it is.

“McClane,” He starts warily. “You’ve been around a lot longer than I have, but I’m no rookie. I know this isn’t how a pro like you deals with a crime scene. What is it about this kid? We see geeks beat up on a regular basis, why freak out about _this_ one?”

There’s silence. A full minute of it, and Mills glances over nervously. If he could flee, he would, when he sees the murderous expression on McClane’s face.

“OR it could be nothing.” Mills back tracks so fast he’s tripping over his words. “Man, you’re right. I should let it go. I’ll let it go, don’t worry about it, sorry to have, you know, made a mountain out of a, you know, a, like, mole hill.” Oh god his hands are actually shaking. He tightens one fist around the lighter and with the other pinches his cigarette so hard he almost breaks it.

McClane’s hand seems to come out of nowhere and land on his shoulder with a thump, keeping him where he is. “_This_ one,” McClane starts, his words icy and measured. “Is important because I _know_ him.”

“Shit.” Mills mutters, glancing around to see if anyone heard them. “Shit, be careful McClane or you could get in trouble for-”

“_This_ one,” McClane keeps talking over Mills, not caring what the man has to say about rules. “Got hurt because he was out buying _me_ beer at the wrong time.”

Mills tries to suppress the urge to shudder at the dangerous quality of McClane’s tone. “Quit it McClane. I said I’d let it go.”

This makes the bald cop pause and drop his hand from Mills’ shoulder, but the man starts talking again after only a moment, gaze now turned down the alley where the EMT is taping the kid’s nose.

“_This_ one,” McClane mutters, his voice rough like he’s just had a coughing fit or something. “Is important because_ I_ should have been there to keep it from happening in the first place.”

Mills frowns and takes a drag to stall for time. “Is he your son?”

McClane just growls and Mills takes that as badass for ‘no.’

Then the kid looks up. There’s nothing remarkable about the glance, even if the neon sign for the liquor store does abruptly flicker to life and illuminate the kid in a pinkish hue. Still, there’s something almost... soft about the kid’s face now, where previously it was screwed up in pain. Despite the broken nose and only one open eye, the kid is looking at John with an expression of, like, devotion or...

...and then there’s McClane who’s looking back in a way that’s downright tender. Mills has never seen the man’s gentler side before. Hell, he never figured the man had a gentler side but there it is, staring back at the kid with...

Oh.

Oh oh oh. Oh shit.

“You mean you and him...?” There’s an unmanly squeak to his words and McClane just looks frustrated.

“Is there a problem, Mills?”

“Oh, oh, oh no. That’s cool. That’s cool, I got, you know, sensitivity training a-a-and I’m like, yeah. Sensitive. And Shit.”

“Just shut up.”

“Can do.”

It looks like the medic is finishing up and McClane’s got his hands pressed against the hood again, this time looking like he’s going to push off the car in order to propel himself forward towards the kid. Er, his you know, whatever.

Later, Mills would go home and ask himself where exactly he’d found the balls to do it, but in the moment he doesn’t think about it, just shoots his hand out to grab McClane’s arm as the man makes a move to step away.

“Does anybody at the station know?” The words come blurting out without Mills even being fully aware of his own question. McClane still looks frustrated, but Mills is finally starting to get his head around _why_ because yeah, he’d be freaking out too if it was his wife sitting on that crate.

“No.” The word is clipped, then McClane freezes for a moment, thinking. “Maybe.” He starts again slowly. “I don’t know. It doesn’t matter Mills, let it go.”

“Wait,” Mills tightens his grip despite the fact that he knows McClane could break his wrist if he wanted to. “Now that I know, do you want me to, you know, keep it on the down low, or like, you know, spread the word or-” Mills knows he’s babbling, but he’s just been hit with a hell of a lot of information he doesn’t really know how to process.

“Shit, I’m not looking to be fodder for station gossip Mills. Use your best judgement. I’m not fucking ashamed of it but I’m not gonna start wearing heels and a tiara to work so you don’t have to worry about it.”

Mills frowns. “I’m not worried, man. I just, you know, wanna help, I guess. If I can.”

This time when McClane stalls he looks Mills in the eye and it’s not angry like before. It’s still uncomfortable as hell and Mills smokes nervously.

“Are you always like this?”

Mills frowns. “Like what?”

“Really fucking earnest.”

It forces a laugh out of Mills that’s borderline hysterical. “Yeah, I guess. Get comments like that a lot.”

“I’m fine Mills.” McClane adds, almost a smile to the corner of his mouth, like he finds Mills funny and hey, that’s better than finding Mills expendable.

“Alright, alright.” Mills sighs and takes another drag. “See you Monday morning.”

Mills let’s go and McClane nods before turning and walking away. The kid’s on his feet now. Mills can just barely hear the words he and the cop exchange

“What was that all about?” The kid asks, adjusting the strap of his bag. McClane shrugs.

“Nothing, Mattie. Let’s take the cop car home.”

The kid, Mattie, or, Matt probably, grins. It‘s a bit lopsided from the bruising, but kind of cute in a boyish way. “If my nose wasn’t broken, I’d totally blow you in that car tonight.”

McClane throws Mills a stern look when he notices the furious blush on the man’s face but otherwise he kindly doesn’t say a word. Matt gets into the car at the same time the EMT slams his ambulance door and takes off himself. Soon it’s just Hernandez in their car waiting for Mills to finish is cigarette, the witnesses are all interviewed for now and the gawking crowd has otherwise dispersed.

Mills drops the butt on the concrete sidewalk and smashes it with his toe. He then slides in next to his partner and lets out a massive sigh.

“What’s up?” Liz is shuffling through some papers in a folder and doesn’t catch sight of the way Mills’ eyes are big, his head still trying to wrap itself around the idea of McClane and a _guy_.

“McClane’sfuckingadude.” The words come spilling out in one big gush of air and Hernandez pauses, likely trying to pick apart the words, before she stuffs the folder in a side pocket and starts the car with a shrug.

“Duh. Lola figured that out more than a month ago when she was on the minutes review board. McClane kept getting_ romantic_ texts from some guy he has labeled in his contacts as ‘Matt’ and Lola put two and two together. I guess that was John’s Matt. Don’t you think McClane bagged a cutie?”

Mills stares at her like she’s grown a second head. How can she take this so flippantly? McClane’s fucking a dude! Badass, saved the world several times over, hardboiled cop, MCCLANE IS FUCKING A DUDE.

He might be hyperventilating now because Liz is giving him a weird look so he tries to calm down. He doesn’t have a problem with it. Really. It’s just, _McClane_.

“You gonna make a big deal out of it Charlie?” Liz asks, her lips pressed tight together in a look of disapproval that always reminds Mills of his older sister. He twists his hands in his lap guiltily.

“Nah, just, you know, surprised.”

“Don’t be.” She mutters. “Lola came to the Christmas party with her partner Cheryl last year and that didn’t seem to faze you at all.”

“Yeah, but Lola is _obviously_ a lez. McClane doesn’t act, you know, queer.”

Now Liz is all out scowling and Mills knows he’s said the wrong thing. “No, I don’t know. You’re acting like an ass right now.”

Mills sighs, way out of his comfort zone. “Yeah, I know.”

Hernandez is silent for several blocks before she sighs too. “Just, remember this isn’t a big deal Charlie. This is the twenty-first century, McClane can fuck a guy if he wants to. He can even _marry_ a guy if he wants to, in like, Iowa.”

There’s a drawn out silence where Mills processes this. He gives himself a block or two of silence to really let the idea sink in, get a bit of a better grip on the reality of things, then he grins sheepishly. He leans back in his seat with a slight blush to his cheeks. “I suppose the kid is kind of cute.”

Liz laughs, saying “I know, right?” and turns into the station lot.

By the time Mills has dropped some stuff off at his desk and gotten to his civilian car he’s feeling more grounded. Sure, it’s a lot for Mills to process, but he figures he’ll wrap his head all the way around this thing soon enough. Liz is right, it’s the twenty-first century, and he’s man enough to admit that that picture McClane has on his desk of himself and that kid at a Mets game is kind of sweet.

The trick now is to figure out who at the station doesn’t know, and see if he can freak them the fuck out as well...


End file.
